


Landslide

by Storyshark2005



Category: Cobra Kai (Web Series)
Genre: AU, Also there's kind of a lame Coach Taylor moment, Alternate Universe, Daniel works at Enterprise!!, Darryl Vidal cameo!, East Coast Rom Com, M/M, Manhattan, NYC, New Jersey LawRusso, New York Story, Sad!Daniel, Tory is here too!, karate tournament, lawrusso, slightly less Dumpster fire Johnny, small dark apartments are sad, you can't park anywhere around here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-07
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-06 06:07:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25758562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Storyshark2005/pseuds/Storyshark2005
Summary: Thirty years was a long time, and you couldn't keep everything you had. Some things you have to leave behind.But some things come back.(AU. A world where Johnny is starting to put his shit back together, teaching at Reseda Karate Academy with George, who has already swiped Carmen up. Things are looking up when he runs into the last person he expects, in the least expected place.)
Relationships: Carmen/George from the Board, Daniel LaRusso/Johnny Lawrence
Comments: 49
Kudos: 278





	Landslide

> Well, I've been afraid of changin'
> 
> 'Cause I've built my life around you
> 
> But time makes you bolder
> 
> Even children get older
> 
> And I'm gettin' older, too
> 
> I'm gettin' older, too
> 
> Take my love, take it down
> 
> Oh, climb a mountain and turn around
> 
> And if you see my reflection in the snow covered hills
> 
> Well, the landslide will bring it down
> 
> \- Fleetwood Mac, _Landslide_

  
  
  
  
  
  


***

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


##  **FRIDAY**

They had reserved a mini-van. 

Three weeks ago, Miguel had walked Johnny through the car rental site, they had checked and double-checked the dates, made sure there would be enough seats and room in the back for luggage. They had clicked a big green ‘RESERVE’ button. They had put in Johnny’s business credit card information. Miguel had wiped his hands together in accomplishment, citing the evidence-- _a confirmation email--_

“That means it’s done-- we’re all good! See, that’s your reservation number--” 

But Sheila the Enterprise lady didn’t seem to care about their reservation number, or the email Johnny had printed off on the office printer, folded in half twice, tucked into his jeans pocket. 

“I’m sorry sir, but we’re all out of that particular model. But we can offer you two smaller cars, which will give you even more space--” 

“No, no, we’re not taking two cars, that’s too complicated, and we only get one parking spot at the hotel--” 

“Well, as I said, we’d be happy to upgrade you to the cargo van--” 

“That’s for like 15 people, we only need room for seven-- it’s fucking--” Johnny groaned, wiping his hands down his face. “I just want the one that I reserved-- the one I already paid for??” he pointed again, fruitlessly, to the wrinkled paper printout. 

Sheila smiled sympathetically, and Johnny briefly regretted his tone, because she probably had to deal with this bullshit all day long, but you know, what kind of fucked up Seinfeld-esque system did they have going here, taking reservations and not actually _reserving the fucking cars--_

“I understand your frustration, and I promise we’ll get you all squared away. We do have another seven-passenger scheduled to be dropped off some time this afternoon--” 

“What time?” 

“Well, that customer’s reservation ends at 3pm--” 

It was just past noon now. 

Johnny glanced back over his shoulder. The kids were slumped up against the concrete airport wall, or using their luggage as a seat. Miguel was deeply involved in some kind of phone game, and Robby was pointing at the screen over his shoulder. Aisha and Tory were staring at their own phones, and Carmen had her head tipped sideways onto George’s shoulder, who was looking up at Johnny with helpful eyebrows, ready to jump in and save the day as usual. 

Freakin’ perfect George. 

Johnny turned back to Sheila, hoping his stiff body language would carry across to George, something like _I’ve got it Mr. Perfect, don’t bother swooping in here--_

“So you had the van for that guy, but not us?” 

Sheila adjusted her glasses nervously. “Uhm, let me just--” she looked over her shoulder, back and forth along the aisle of rumpled white shirts, bright green lanyards and clear plastic ID tags. She was clearly searching for the manager _thank fucking god_ because maybe somebody with some fucking pull here could fix this clusterfuck of a situation-- 

Johnny sees the guy coming, waved over by Sheila’s frantic fingers. He’s wearing a slightly nicer pressed shirt and khakis, a shiny metallic nametag instead of a green lanyard, dark hair combed neatly to the side, and there’s just something about him that smacks Johnny in the face, a little alarm going off in the back of his head, like a song on the radio that brings the title to the tip of your tongue, and it’s right there, something around the warm brown doe eyes and the tan skin--

The little rectangular gold nametag glints in the light, flashes out the letters _D-A-N-I-E-L_ and Johnny’s mind goes briefly blank, and fills with a kid, his chin in the sand and a red hooded sweatshirt, sharp elbows and black wavy hair and big scared eyes across the mat. 

It’s _him--_

Johnny has to keep his chin down, feeling the phantom blow, a snapping, violent whiplash tearing at the muscles at the back of his neck. 

He’s aged remarkably well, of course. Maybe except a general tiredness pulling down at the corners of his eyes, a lack of brightness, maybe. Which was how many of Johnny’s old classmates looked, thirty five years of life could really take a toll. But somehow, he’s always pictured LaRusso differently. Somehow he’d never thought that Jersey fire could be snuffed out. But here, in the dingy fluorescent lighting, with the cheap tie, and the nametag, the awful bland corporate sameness, it occurs to Johnny that to these people, Daniel was just another mid-level manager that probably packed his lunch everyday and talked about baseball or football or how bad the traffic was-- he wasn’t anything special to them.

LaRusso was already rambling, a voice that was somehow higher than he remembers, soft and tired and a little rough, but with a note of determined positivity. “Yeah, looks like the previous people extended their reservation a half-day, which is why it isn’t here for you--” Daniel was clicking away, pointing at the screen, Sheila over his shoulder, but he hasn’t looked up yet. 

“ --I dunno why they do that, they wouldn’t want to me say but all these companies double-book, you know, and you’d be surprised how many people cancel at the last minute or never show up, so it’s not usually an issue--” 

He finally looks up, and he stops clicking. He frowns, mind a few steps behind Johnny’s. 

“I’m sorry, do I--” 

“LaRusso.” 

His mouth drops open. “Johnny,” he starts, and stops. 

“Hey, man.” Johnny clears his throat. “Long time.” 

LaRusso’s mouth hangs open another couple seconds, and his cheeks maybe get a little warm, it’s hard to tell in the lighting. 

He sucks in a breath, pulling himself together. “Uh...yeah-- Sheila, do you wanna help the next customer? I can take care of him.” 

Sheila nods, smiling in relief, and moves to the next station, calling up the people in line. 

There’s another few seconds of hanging silence, and Johnny’s head is unhelpfully blank again. 

“Sorry,” LaRusso finally shakes his head, expression still wrinkled up, unsure which way to swing. “This is crazy... it’s good to see you--” 

“Yeah,” Johnny lets out a shaky laugh, which gets a real smile out of LaRusso. 

“It’s been... thirty years?” he shakes his head.

“Thirty five,” Johnny nods. “It’s fucked up, right?”

“Jeeze,” he pushes his tongue at his bottom lip, shaking his head again, blinking, and Johnny notices his eyelashes haven’t gotten any shorter or thinner. Like little dark curtains. “Um, okay, you probably want to get out of here with a car, right?”

“That’d be nice,” Johnny nods, unsure if he should point at his crumpled up paper reservation again. “We picked the 8-passenger, cause it’s not too big...the traffic up here’s kind of crazy--” 

“Yeah, you don’t want the cargo van, let me find you something nice, hold on...”

He looks back down at the computer again, typing away with a crinkle between his eyebrows. Johnny just watches him. He can’t see his hands behind the counter. He wonders if he’s married, if he’s got a wife and kids at home, maybe a little yappy dog, or a couple of fluffy hamsters he got talked into getting, that were cute but bit you, and you had to clean out the cage yourself because the kids never did it, even though they promised they would-- 

“You still doing karate?” Daniel’s voice is low, eyes down on the computer screen. 

“Yeah, actually. I’m teaching at this place in Reseda... we brought some students up for the All-American Open. It’s this Tournament-- ” he looks over his shoulder at the group. George was talking animatedly to Carmen now. 

“You’re teaching?” 

Johnny looks back at Daniel, who had stopped typing to follow Johnny’s gaze. There was a kind of raw softness to his voice, almost yearning. 

“Yeah,” Johnny nods. “The kid with the Spader hair is mine.” 

“Oh, wow, yeah. I can see--” 

“He mostly looks like his mom.”

“Is he any good?” 

Johnny dips his head, grinning. “Yeah. He’s really good.” 

“That’s....awesome, man.” And he sounds like he means it. 

“You got kids?” 

He sucks in a breath, looks back at his computer, resumes typing. “No. Never got around to it.” 

Johnny nods. “Married?” 

He shakes his head, and doesn’t say anything for a few seconds. “How many bags you guys got?” 

“Uh, seven. Plus an equipment bag... so eight.” 

“Okay, yeah. This one’ll work. Seats eight, hatchback with cargo room in the back for your bags.” 

“Sounds great,” Johnny perks up a little. “When can we get it?” 

“Right now. Black okay?” 

“Black is great.” 

“Okay, follow me, let’s go.”

Johnny shouldered his bag, waved at the group, and followed Daniel past the long line of frustrated customers. 

Carmen jogs up, pulling her suitcase behind. “You got it figured out?” 

Johnny nods up at LaRusso, his long legs striding across the floor, talking into his cellphone as he walked. 

“You just gotta find the right guy to talk to.” 

Carmen grins, lacing her fingers around his elbow. 

***

_“WHOA,_ Sensei, you got us an Escalade??” 

Johnny’s mouth drops open along with Miguel’s, the black paint glinting in the parking garage lights. A guy hopped out of the driver’s seat, tossing the keys to Daniel. 

“Automatic transmission, lights come on by themselves, use the parking brake on hills...” Daniel’s eyebrows are high and amused, watching the kids _ooh_ and _ahh_ and the car. The keys dangled from the tips of his fingers. “Who’s driving?” 

George comes over smiling, taking the keys from Daniel. His name is on the rental contract, or insurance, or whatever. Johnny was glad to let him be the designated driver all weekend. 

Johnny watches as the kids stack their bags in the back, Tory trying to flirt with Miguel and getting ignored. Daniel’s shoulder is warm, an inch away, Johnny’s surprised he hasn’t left yet, as busy as it was back at the counter. 

“What about you? Still doing karate?” 

Daniel bit at his lip again, apparently a habit. Johnny doesn’t remember that from high school, and he thinks he would have remembered. 

“Nah, not in years.” 

“Oh,” Johnny doesn't bother hiding the disappointment in his tone. “Too busy working, or something?” 

“Or something,” Daniel clears his throat. “How long are you guys in town?” 

“We fly out Monday. You should come. To the Tournament, I mean. I could get you a schedule.” 

“I work all weekend,” Daniel grimaces, sounding genuinely regretful. “Or I would.” 

“Maybe we could get a drink? Catch up?” Johnny keeps his eyes on the car, watching Robby try a playful leg sweep with Tory’s back turned. She turns, punches playfully at his shoulder. He was trying pretty hard with her. 

“What, and talk about ex-girlfriends?” 

Johnny can’t tell if he’s trying to be a dick about it, or if he really means it. 

“Or something,” Johnny shrugs, and Daniel laughs, searching him up and down. 

He shakes his head, and pulls his wallet out, offering a card. “My cell’s the second number. I’m off at six.” 

“You live in the City?” Johnny stares down at the plain white card with block black lettering and the green logo. Somehow he’d expected a cheesy headshot or something. 

“Nah. This side of the river.”

“Right,” Johnny remembers. “Jersey kid.”

“You think I can afford rent in that town? I’m no Johnny Lawrence,” his eyes were bright and playful, he was looking more like the old LaRusso by the second. 

“Yeah me neither, not anymore,” Johnny snorts, earning another cryptic look. 

“Okay,” Daniel nods after a moment. 

“Do I need to sign something?” 

“Nah, you’re good. Just bring it back Monday, right? No scratches!” 

“Okay, Lando.”

Daniel laughs. 

“Hey, I’ll call you tonight, then?” 

“I bet you won’t,” Daniel was already turning to walk away. 

“You’ve got a bet, LaRusso!” Johnny pointed at him as he went, the card gripped in between his thumb and index finger. 

Daniel just waves him off, face lit up like a Christmas tree. 

Johnny climbs into the middle seat next to Robby and Tory, and pulls the door shut. Miguel and Aisha were bickering in the back. 

Carmen twists around in the passenger seat. 

“Did you know that guy?” 

Johnny rubbed his fingers over the corners of the card, pressing the corner into the pad of his thumb. 

“Yeah, I used to. It’s been a long time.” 

Robby craned across, looking out the window. “He seemed cool.”

Carmen just smiles down at Johnny’s hands, turning around as George pulls the car out into traffic. 

“All right, where’s this hotel at?” George asks brightly, and Carmen starts tapping away at her phone. 

“Are you gonna hang out with your friend later, Dad?” Robby clicked his seatbelt into place. 

Johnny nodded, flipping the card across his palm. 

***

They get settled into the hotel, spend an hour unpacking and chilling out, and find a sit-down pizza place for a late lunch a couple blocks away. It’s expensive but everything else they looked at was more expensive, and Johnny doubts there’s anything else in Manhattan. Johnny had suggested they stay across the river in Union City, or even Newark, but it was George’s money (well he owned the business anyway) and he had wanted the kids to have the ‘full New York Experience’ whatever that meant. Well part of that apparently meant an evening Ferry ride on the Bay to see the Statue of Liberty and it was free so that was cool. 

Robby points out across the bay, asking if that was the empty spot of sky where the World Trade Center used to be, Johnny says he’s pretty sure and George shakes his head and points out the right spot. 

Johnny sits down and pulls out his phone, dialing the name he’d already programmed in. 

_“Hey,”_ the voice crackles over the speaker. _“You win-- what did we wager?”_

Johnny tells him probably the first round of beer. Miguel turns around and makes a wolf whistle and shouts out that _Sensei was talking to his boyfriend--_ Carmen smacks him hard on the back of the head, making Robby laugh. 

Daniel asks him where they’re at, and Johnny tells him about the ferry, that they were past the Statue of Liberty.

_“Do your students like skee-ball?”_

“Yeah, sure.” 

_“There’s this place a few blocks from the station, I’ll send you the address.”_ Johnny asks him why doesn’t he just tell him, he’s got a pen and Daniel laughs and says _just click the text message_ and says he’ll see him there in thirty minutes. 

***

The place is called _The Hoppe Shop_ which has to do with craft beers and not weed. Robby screws up his face at Johnny’s insistence that “Hoppe Shop” sounds like “Head Shop” and he tells Johnny that ‘that doesn’t make any sense’ and he goes off to flirt with Tory and beat Miguel at skee-ball. 

LaRusso shows up after Johnny’s already had a beer. He’s dressed in jeans and a dark jacket (maybe canvas?) with the collar popped up and a blue button-up shirt underneath and he’d done something to his hair to look less dorky. 

“Don’t tell me you got all dolled up for me?” Johnny meets him at the bar, leaving George and Carmen at the table. He likes the way LaRusso’s eyebrows go up when he sees him.

“I took a shower, does that count?” he leans a hip against the bar, and Johnny copies him. The bartender is busy at the other end of the bar.

“Hell yeah, it counts. What are you drinking?” 

“What are _you_ drinking? I got first round.” He pulls his wallet out, the same one from the airport. 

“I got it,” Johnny waves to the bartender, she gives him a nod. 

“Didn’t I lose the bet?” 

Johnny notices the lighting in this place was much better than the airport, LaRusso looked a little more like Johnny thought he should. There were still wrinkles around his eyes, but there was a playful little spark, and his skin looked less washed out here, like there was a little California still left in him. 

“Wasn’t a fair bet. I was always gonna call you.” 

He tilted his head up, like he was enjoying the joke, and leaned his forearms on the bar. “Okay,” he said. “I’ve got next.” 

***

Carmen likes Daniel. 

He knows, because when Daniel gets up to find the bathroom, she leans over and whisper-yells _I like him!_ and punches him hard in the shoulder. Which is nice of her. She’d been trying hard not to make it awkward for him after he’d made a pass at her (immediately attracted to her sing-song voice and smooth skin and radiant smile--- and to be honest, her kid, too) and she’d had to break it to him easy, that she was already seeing George. Johnny’s boss, his business partner, maybe even his friend. George, who had helped pull Johnny out of the gutter when Bobby had dragged him into the brand new ‘Reseda Karate Academy’ and introduced them and told George that _Johnny teaches karate too_ \-- 

George was a big reason Johnny was cleaning up his life and reconnecting with Robby. He couldn’t have imagined any of this a year ago. For the first time in a long time, he’s got something to get out of bed for: the students, karate. 

Robby.

Anyway long story short, George beat Johnny to the punch with Carmen. And they really were good together. George was sweet and steady and looked at Carmen like she hung the moon, and honestly, going out with Carmen probably would have made things even weirder between Miguel and Robby. But Carmen was a class act, and still showed up to the dojo almost every day, and kissed George on the cheek and joked around with Johnny and never made him feel bad, or weird about it. 

Also. Carmen totally thinks he’s gay. 

And why shouldn’t she? He hasn’t had a real girlfriend, nobody for more than a couple of weeks, since Shannon, and that’s been fifteen years. _Sixteen._ It wasn’t like he wasn’t trying... just. Nobody seemed that interesting. So Johnny doesn’t really have much in the way of argument. 

George notes that the last ferry back is at 8pm, and they’d better start walking if they want to catch it. She kisses him on the cheek and tells him to call if he needs a ride, and without much argument, he nods and keeps the tab open and waits, watching them go. 

LaRusso comes back from the bathroom, jacket still slung across the back of his chair, and Johnny’s eyes catch on his brown leather belt and his rolled up sleeves, the watch on his wrist and his slightly open collar and sober eyes, still bright after sipping at the same beer for the last hour. 

“Where’d the others go?” Daniel swings his leg over the bar stool like it’s a horse. 

“Last ferry home,” Johnny says, and finishes his beer. 

“And you didn’t go with them?” LaRusso swipes his tongue out over his bottom lip, fingertips drawing patterns in the condensation on his glass. 

“You’ve got a car,” Johnny shrugs.

He smiles, slow and wide, and tilts his chin up at Johnny’s raised brow. 

“Yes,” he says. “I do. You want another?” 

***

LaRusso switches to gin martinis _(ice, ice cold)_ and suddenly seems to know the bartender’s name _(Stacey)_ and beats Johnny twice at skee-ball (but Johnny _wipes the floor_ with him at Streetfighter and Pac-Man) before suddenly it’s last call and they’re stumbling out onto the cold sidewalk, the wind gusting up from the bay, pushing LaRusso’s hair across his forehead as they walked to his car, his hands digging in his pockets for his keys. 

“You want me to drop you back at your hotel?” Daniel’s breath is warm, it puffs like cigarette smoke across the windshield. Johnny watches his fingers turn the ignition over in the dark blue light of the car. 

“No,” he shifts in his seat, fumbling for the seatbelt. It’s a decent car, older but nice. Buick Lucerne, maybe a 2010. “Hotel’s in Manhattan. I can just crash at yours, if that’s cool.” 

“Thank _God_ ,” he smiles soft and dopey, and shifts into drive. “I’m too drunk for the Expressway.” 

***

Daniel’s place is a second floor condo in a neighborhood in Jersey called Roselle. It’s a brick building that looks older than it probably was, with a grassy courtyard with hedges and cracked sidewalks and big, shady oak trees. Daniel toes his shoes off so Johnny does too, and watches the roll of his shoulderblades as he slips his jacket off and hangs it on a hook by the door. The place is neat and clean, with a cramped kitchen, a living room with a big TV and a small bookshelf and a worn leather couch (Daniel says it’s ‘really comfy, I sleep on it all the time’). There’s one bedroom and a bathroom down a hallway, a linen closet, and that’s it. It’s tiny. 

Daniel digs a couple more beers out of the fridge and neither of them mention going to bed, so they sit on the couch and find a _Star Trek: The Next Generation_ marathon (there’s _way_ too much to look through, Daniel’s got the Sports Package, and HBO, CineMax, Showtime, all that shit and about a hundred channels so Johnny picks the first one that looks interesting that he doesn’t have to pay too much attention to.)

It’s one of those corny holodeck episodes, where the crew is fucking around in 1940s San Francisco in some detective mystery, and then of course the safety protocols get accidentally turned off, so stupid Wesley Crusher gets shot and is bleeding and _oh_ _Doctor, we’ve got to get him to sickbay, he’s DYING!_

“Why the hell would you even make that an option?!” LaRusso laments from the couch, sloshing some of his beer into his lap. “It doesn’t make any sense.” 

Johnny shakes his head and eats his popcorn. Commercials come back on and LaRusso fumbles for the remote like he’s done every commercial break, muting the TV, (“I can’t _stand_ commercials, he says.)

Johnny looks around the room, eyes scanning the DVD collection and the stacks of CDs and records on the bookshelf, the handful of books, and only a couple of framed photos. One of them has Daniel slinging an arm around his mother and his old karate master. 

“So, um. You didn’t say why you’re not doing karate anymore.” 

The TV flashes across his face, blue and white and shadow. He’s in a t-shirt and boxer shorts. Johnny was borrowing his basketball shorts, which were only a little tight. 

He frowns down into his cereal bowl (Cocoa Puffs, like a little kid). 

“I dunno. I just...quit. After Mr. Miyagi died.” 

Johnny had figured the old man was dead. He didn’t know how old he was back then, but he _looked_ old enough. Course, the way he had moved around after the Halloween Party, Johnny couldn't have guessed the guy’s age.

“So...he died, and you quit karate.” 

“Yeah,” he says, staring at the TV. They sit in silence, watching an infomercial about Flex Seal. 

“When’d you move back here?” 

“Same year.” 

The Enterprise flashes back on screen, and Daniel unmutes the TV. Doctor Crusher was looking all hot, with her big hat and red lipstick. 

“You got a girlfriend, or something?” Johnny asks. 

Geordi is fucking around with the holodeck contols, which _never_ works. Johnny wonders who’s running Engineering, it seemed like LaForge was always running around the ship with a suitcase, doing menial tasks. 

Daniel shakes his head. “No.” He pauses, spoon in his cereal. “I, um. Broke up with somebody a few months ago.” 

Data punches a guy. 

“He...um. It didn’t work out.” 

There’s an awkward silence where Johnny tries to process thoughts, but it’s almost four in the morning. 

“That’s cool,” he says, and then mentally slaps himself, “Not the breaking up part. Just--” 

Daniel smiles a little, digs back into his cereal. “It’s fine.”

“How long were you guys together?” 

“A couple years,” Daniel shrugs, muting the TV again, which made it more awkward. 

“You broke up with-- him?” Johnny stumbles on the last word. Dammit.

“Other way around,” Daniel grimaced. “He said I was boring.” 

There was a lot about LaRusso Johnny remembered. Boring wasn’t one of them. 

“Well. Fuck him,” Johnny tipped his beer against Daniel’s cereal bowl. 

He shook his head, mouth full of Cocoa Puffs. “He was right,” he says, swallowing. “I’m fifty years old, I only hang out with my mom, I work for a car rental company,” he grabbed his cereal bowl, talking over his shoulder on his way to the kitchen. “He was right to break up with me.” 

Johnny followed him over, bare feet padding across the wood floorboards. He watches Daniel wash out his bowl and spoon, put them on the drying rack, dry his hands off on a towel. 

“What?” he asks, rolling his eyes, hip against the counter. 

“I haven’t dated anybody since my kid’s mother. That was fifteen years ago.” 

“Oh, yeah? So, what, you’re as bad as me at relationships?” 

The kitchen was dark, except for the microwave light above the stove. 

Johnny steps closer, his toes almost touch Daniel’s. “I bet you’re not bad at relationships.” 

Daniel’s frowning at him, eyes nearly black. His arms are crossed over his ribs. The letters on his T-shirt glow in the dark, _Fleetwood Mac._

He tilts his head to the side, pushes off the counter. 

“You’re not still with your kid’s mother?” 

Johnny shakes his head. 

“Why?”

“I didn’t stick around for my kid. I was drunk. I didn’t love her.” 

“Why didn’t you love her?” 

He smells like shampoo and aftershave. 

“She was boring.” 

“Like me?” Daniel murmurs, deafening in the dark kitchen. Johnny remembers what his mother used to call this time of night, _the witching hour,_ when all the ghosts come out and time hangs still.

He shakes his head, steps up into his space, banking on a little irish courage. “You’re not boring, LaRusso.” 

Daniel uncrosses his arms, looking a little wary. “How would you know?”

“My face still hurts.”

Daniel’s eyes flick down, stay there a second. Back up. “Sorry about that,” he says, voice rough.

“No you’re not.” Johnny leans closer, backing LaRusso up against the counter.

Daniel’s eyes light up in the dark. “No. I’m not,” he says, and licks his lips. 

Johnny leans the rest of the way in, sliding his fingers across Daniel’s jaw and through his hair, pinning him up against the sink. Daniel opens his mouth, and little shocks of electricity go zinging down Johnny’s spine, from his lips and the tips of his fingers, and the skin at his hips where Daniel’s hands were sliding up under his shirt. 

They make out, slotting their knees together, hips and chest glued together. Daniel tastes like Cocoa Puffs and beer and juniper, and Johnny can feel his pulse pounding against his thumbs. 

“You still want me sleeping on the couch?” Johnny noses into his cheek, rough with a day’s worth of stubble.

Daniel huffs, air puffing across Johnny’s jaw. “I’ve got to be at work in like...four hours.” 

Johnny leans back, lets his hands slide down LaRusso’s arms, his hands. “I know. It was a real question.” 

“I should probably get some sleep.” Daniel keeps his eyes down, he twists one hand around to tug at Johnny’s wrist. “But we could share my bed. Just for sleep. If you want.” 

“Let’s go, Karate Kid,” Johnny teases, and lets Daniel pull him back to the bedroom. 

***

##  **SATURDAY**

They get a late start (turns out the snooze button works an unlimited amount of times) and traffic sucks. There’s an employee parking area but apparently Daniel “doesn’t have time for that shit” and pulls right up to the rental area in the terminal. He hands Johnny the keys and tells him to just take the car, which helps Johnny out because the subway takes three times as long to get to Manhattan, and anyway Johnny doesn’t even know how the New York Subway works yet. 

“Just bring it back when you’re done today,” Daniel shoulders his bag, checking his hair again in the window. “We could grab food or something with your students after.” 

“You won’t be able to see any of the Tournament,” Johnny tries to keep his voice flat, and it comes out slightly whinier than he’d hoped. But only slightly.

“I gotta work,” he sighs. “I’ll try to get out early and take a cab, but weekends here are crazy.”

Johnny nods, and they don’t kiss but LaRusso lets go of his arm kind of reluctantly so Johnny gives him a pat on the ass as he turns away, which gets him a finger point and a headshake.

It’s nice. 

Johnny takes his time leaving, setting the GPS on his phone, turning the radio on to find a good station.

He’s sort of not that surprised when the first one he stops on is playing Fleetwood Mac, and he spends the next few minutes remembering Daniel in the dark kitchen in his stupid t-shirt and those big eyes, stuck on Johnny, fingers still hot and damp from washing his dishes in the sink. 

***

Three out of the four kids advance all the way to the finals, which will take place the next day. Aisha does a fine job, but after three rounds her speed becomes a problem, which she _knew_ would be an issue-- but George and Johnny pull her aside and give her a pep talk, and she’s not thrilled, but they successfully communicate the message that getting through _one_ round of a national tournament is an accomplishment, much less three.

George walks up to him before Robby’s last match (he finishes the guy with a leg sweep, it’s awesome) and bumps his elbow. 

“So you stayed with your friend last night?” 

Johnny concentrates on watching Robby’s opponent warm up. 

“Yeah. We had a few drinks. His place was closer.” 

George nods, watching Johnny with a little smile. “He seems like a nice guy. You think he’d ever move back to the Valley?”

Johnny spares him a glance. “What’d Carmen say?” 

George laughs. “She’s perceptive. Woman’s intuition, I guess.” 

“Whatever. We’re just hanging out.”

“Well. You should bring him out tonight. Sensei Vidal’s dojo invited us to join them for dinner.” 

“Vidal’s here?” 

“That’s his son,” George nods across the mat, and Johnny can’t believe he hadn’t noticed the logo on the gi. “You didn’t notice?”

“Well shit,” Johnny groans, and waves Robby for some last minute tips. 

“Guess your mind’s been elsewhere, huh?” George gives him another pat on the back and leaves, eyes sparking. 

***

Johnny texts Daniel around four:

_ > hey u remember Vidal _

_ > ? _

_ << yeah i didn’t have to fight him in 84 _

_ << but i remember your match w/ him _

_ << why? _

_ > he’s got a dojo they r here _

_ > invited us to dinner _

_ > some korean place its near the college _

_ > wanna come? Were about done here i can come get u _

_ << dude im pretty blown _

_ << kinda just wanna go home and sleep _

Johnny debates a blow job joke. Probably too early. Plus maybe he’s reading into this too much. 

(Into _what,_ he thinks.)

_ > ok fair enough _

Daniel’s little text bubble pops up a couple of times, but he doesn’t answer. 

The hotel is within walking distance, Robby is hanging back, packing his gym bag slowly. Johnny tells him again how proud he is of him, but Robby looks a little distracted. Not glowing and happy like Johnny had hoped. 

Robby sighs, sitting back against the bank of lockers, after Johnny presses him on it. “Did you see the bracket for tomorrow?” 

Johnny’s fingers squeeze at his dark phone. He had seen the bracket. 

“Look,” he tries, carefully. “Any way it turns out--” 

“You figured out who you’ll be rooting for?” Robby stays slouched, fingers loose and tired in his lap, but his jaw was tight, waiting.

“You’re my _son,”_ he starts, but he knows it’s not a good enough answer. He hadn’t really prepared himself mentally for this. Which had been stupid. As well as they’d trained both boys, he should have bet on it. 

“He’s your favorite student,” Robby interrupts. “You like teaching him better.” 

“That’s not true--” 

It wasn’t true, but Johnny knows what Robby’s talking about. Teaching Miguel was simple and uncomplicated, where every correction and directive to Robby was laced with the past, with failure, with the undercurrent of _sorry,I’msorry,I’msorry._

George has told Johnny, too, that sometimes he wasn’t sure where he fit in with Robby’s training, if he should leave it all to Johnny as his father, or if that would seem like special treatment. So it was always a bit of a dance. 

And there was just... something natural about the way that Miguel took to Johnny’s style. It wasn’t _pure_ Cobra Kai, but it was close, basically it was all of the same stuff with the “No Mercy” bullshit whited out. Robby was _good,_ he was a natural, but there was some kind of disconnect with the communication, with the teaching style. Miguel seemed to pick up every move with only half an instruction from Johnny, he soaked it up like a sponge. With Robby... it was just more difficult. There was always a missed word, or a half-understood concept. A constant, low-humming frustration.

There was something in the way... something Johnny couldn’t put his finger on. 

“It is true, and you know it,” Robby pulled one of those sideways frowns. He always did this, dropped these little comments like they were nothing when he should _know_ that he was breaking his father’s heart. “You just don’t want to say it out loud.” 

“You and Miguel are both my students, I want you both to do well, and I’m proud of you both--” 

“So you don’t care who wins? Either way, it’s the same to you?”

“I care about you giving your best, that’s what’s important--” 

“So I’m just another student?” 

Johnny has to squeeze his fists tight, nobody could get to him like this kid, it was like he was designed to find and pick at every little-- 

“What do you want me to say? You want me to boo Miguel tomorrow in front of Carmen? I’m trying to do my job--” 

“You’re my Dad,” Robby snaps, sitting up, _“I want you in my corner--”_

Johnny’s phone buzzes, and he makes the mistake of looking down. 

“It’s fine,” Robby stands, grabs his backpack. “I’ll see you back at the hotel. Or, wait--” he scoffs. “Maybe I won’t. Maybe you’ll be busy getting laid.” 

There isn’t a door to slam, but the words have the same effect, leaving Johnny shocked and in pieces, unable to pick himself back up from his seat.

His phone buzzes again. 

***

Daniel’s last couple texts had been cryptic, basically “don’t drive the car back here I can come get it” but with no specific time or instructions or any more details. 

So it’s a surprise when Johnny sees him trailing a waiter to the table, still in his work clothes and the brown suede jacket Johnny had dropped him off in earlier that morning, but minus the green tie and nametag. Carmen claps her hands and says something welcoming, George makes the introduction while Johnny goes to find another chair. 

“Two-time All Valley Champion, Daniel LaRusso, meet Sensei Darryl Vidal--”

“I remember _you,”_ Vidal laughs, reaching across the table to shake Daniel’s hand. “You gave me a little catharsis, you know? ‘84 was supposed to be my year, man, but that damn Johnny Lawrence--”

“Yeah, he’s kind of a pain--” Daniel takes the chair, winking. 

“I’ll never forget that final match, though.” Darryl grins, leaning forward on his elbows. “That was really something. Where’d you learn that kick?” 

“My teacher,” Daniel shrugs out of his jacket, and Johnny has to stop himself from helping. “Just something I watched him practice.” 

“Okinawan, right?” 

“Yeah, Miyagi-do is like... Goju-ryu, basically. Plus a little window washing.”

They all laugh, and the waitress brings Daniel’s drink. Johnny nudges over his plate of leftover fries. 

Daniel leans over, volume lowered to Johnny’s proximity. “You ordered a burger and fries? At a korean restaurant?” he takes one anyway, dipping it in the ketchup Johnny had to specifically ask for.

“If I knew you were coming maybe I would have ordered something nerdy and pretentious,” Johnny coughs. 

Daniel’s face wrinkles up. “No you wouldn’t have.” 

“Yeah, probably not. How’d you get here?” 

“Uber.” 

“Was it expensive?” 

“Doesn’t matter. You can buy my dinner and drive me home.” 

“Oh, you think so?” 

“Uh huh.” 

Vidal pulls Daniel back in with a question about style or something, and Johnny nearly jumps at the warm hand on his knee under the table. He folds his arms on the table, and tries to look interested in the conversation.

***

“So what do you call that jump kick?” Darryl pulls the conversation back around again, and Johnny nearly groans. “The telegraph on it is kind of crazy, but it worked on Johnny--” 

“The Crane Kick,” Miguel calls from the “kid” end of the table, licking the spicy wing sauce from his fingers. 

There’s a little beat of silence, and Daniel cocks his head to the side. Johnny tries to sink back in his chair as far as possible. 

“It’s not that hard to learn,” Miguel rattled on, oblivious, happy to get some adult attention. “The whole crane stance is just a distraction, it’s just a flying jump kick, really. It’s kind of crazy but it really works when people aren’t expecting it--” 

“So you know the kick?” 

Miguel stops licking his fingers, looking nervously from Daniel’s face to Johnny, and nods.

“And _he_ taught you how to do it?” Daniel pulls his hand from under the table to point accusingly at Johnny.

“Ye-es?”

Daniel turns fully on Johnny. “Really?” with that Jersey lilt pitching upward.

He honestly can’t tell how mad he is. 

“Well he didn’t teach it to all of us.” Robby tosses his napkin down on the table. 

“I didn’t bother,” Tory snorts. “It’s kind of worthless if your enemy--” 

“Opponent--” George corrects. 

“Okay. It’s kind of worthless if your _opponent_ has already seen it--”

“You’re being rude, Tory.” Aisha tsks. 

“It’s _not_ worthless, you just haven’t learned how to do it right--” Miguel retorts. 

“I’m not being rude, it’s _true--”_

Robby gets up to leave, muttering about the hotel, and Johnny wonders why everything he touches always manages to blow up in his face. 

***

“You should probably take care of your kid tonight.” 

They’re in the parking garage across from the college gymnasium. The lights had a greenish-tint and made his white shirt and the ends of his hair glow. He was leaning against the car with his jacket folded over his elbow.

Johnny kicked at invisible rocks. “Yeah.” 

“So how come you didn’t teach Robby the kick?” 

“Miguel was my first student. He’s my neighbor, and when he found out I was teaching, he wanted in. I taught it to him his first week ‘cause he’d seen the video on the internet. He asked about it.” 

“Yeah.” 

“Robby and I weren’t on speaking terms until last year. I dunno why I didn’t teach it to him. He didn’t ask. It’s..” he shakes his head, not wanting to really look at LaRusso, not wanting to wallow in these failures. “It’s harder, with Robby.” 

“I wish I knew what to tell you. I don’t know anything about kids.”

“Did you ever want one?” 

The question pops out un-screened, but LaRusso doesn’t seem to mind. 

“Yeah,” he nods, clicking his tongue in regret. “I always thought I’d have kids by now.”

“More than one?” Johnny tries to tease, but it’s a little sad. 

“Oh yeah,” he grins. “At least two. Boys and girls.” 

“I dunno what I’d do with a daughter. I have enough trouble with Robby.” 

“You’d figure it out.” 

Johnny shrugs. “I haven’t figured him out.” 

“You will.” 

Johnny kicks at more invisible dirt. “He’s fighting Miguel tomorrow.” 

“Ah,” Daniel nods. “That makes more sense.” 

“He doesn’t think I’m in his corner.” 

“Are you?” 

“I’m in both their corners.” 

“That’s not the same thing.”

“I know. But Miguel--” 

“He has his mom. And George.” 

“I know. It’s just--” 

Johnny struggles. Daniel’s eyes go soft. 

“You love him.” 

“He’s like my kid. He’s _easier_ than my kid.” 

“Do they get along?” 

“They tolerate each other.” 

“What about tomorrow? What do you think’s gonna happen?” 

“It could go either way.”

“Hm. That’s tough, John.” 

“I dunno. I don’t know what to do. I’ve been trying to split the difference... it seems like they both find something wrong. Miguel’s been kinda pissy too, I think he was hoping I’d end up dating his mom.” 

“Why didn’t you?” 

“George got there first.”

“Right.” LaRusso frowns with his forehead, his mouth in a neutral line.

“So basically I was trying to stay neutral, I ended up pissing them both off.”

Daniel nodded. “Squish like grape.” 

“What?”

“Nothing, nevermind. Do you wanna do something fun tonight?” 

“I thought you were gonna go to sleep.” 

“I got a second wind. Go get Robby.” 

_“What?”_

“Go get Robby, idiot. I’ve got an idea.”

***

LaRusso takes them on the subway. Johnny’s a little nervous about taking his kid there at night, but Daniel shakes his head and tells him it’s fine. There’s a station a block from the hotel, and they walk down the narrow, slick steps and LaRusso swipes his MTA card three times to get them through the turnstiles. He’s got the route on his phone, but he won’t tell Johnny or Robby where they’re going, only _you’ll like it, I promise._

Daniel points out all the examples of ‘do’s’ and ‘don’ts’ ( _“see those girls blocking the doors? Nuh-uh.”_ or, _“the escalators-- the right’s for standing and the left’s for walking, see?”_ and _“if the car’s empty, there’s always a reason!” )_

Johnny starts piecing together that they’re in Brooklyn, and Daniel finally waves them off at almost the last station on the line. 

“West 8th Street, this is us--” 

They step off the platform and the place is lit up like a Christmas tree. Robby’s eyes get wide and Johnny gives Daniel a _look_ \-- 

“What is this place?” Robby asks. 

Daniel slaps him on the back. “Coney Island, kid, c’mon.” 

“Is that like Boney Island?” 

Daniel stops. “Is that like _what?”_

“It was this Halloween-themed park in Sherman Oaks, Mom used to take me.” 

“I don’t--” Daniel looks from father to son, and Johnny enjoys his bereft expression. “I don’t know what to say to that. Jeeze, just-- c’mon, let’s get you educated, kid.” 

“LaRusso, don’t think about paying--” but Daniel ignores him and leads the way to the ticket booth and pulls out his wallet before Johnny can stop him. They get through the gates and huddle together, Robby unfolding the free map the lady in the booth had handed him.

Daniel starts pointing to things, ignoring the map. 

“Ok, we gotta walk down the Boardwalk, but we should do that after the rides close. And you can’t leave here without a Nathan’s hot dog, no excuses-- but don’t bother with the funnel cake here, it’s better in Jersey. The Aquarium is closed, but all the rides and the games are open--” 

Daniel points out the “Cyclone” roller coaster, and the “Wonder Wheel,” and some other crazy upside-down ride that Johnny’s definitely not getting on. 

“Oh, you’re getting on,” Daniel corrects. 

“C’mon, Dad,” Robby was using his usual unimpressed-teenager voice, but he was already perking up. 

Johnny looks up at the monstrosity, THUNDERBOLT blinking in giant red letters, the near-vertical first climb and the sheer, stomach-churning drop. It looked like a giant red d--

“DAD, it’ll be fine. Plus, it seats three-across so we can all sit together.” Robby emphasized, pointing to the glossy map advertising a thrilled looking family strapped into the torture device. 

Johnny sighs, knowing he had already crumpled under the combined weight of Robby’s reasoning and Daniel’s amused smile, glittering in the candy-bright Brooklyn night. 

***

Johnny has to piss, and Daniel and Robby wait outside the bathroom. 

When he comes back out, Daniel and Robby are facing off, mirroring each other in a defensive position Johnny’s never taught before. It’s a wider, Okinawan-style position, stable like an oak tree, hands open instead of clenched into a fist like Johnny teaches his students to do. Robby is wide-eyed, not in surprise but in attentiveness, hanging on Daniel’s every word, adjusting his arms and hips and feet, just there, like that, and _there--_

“If you start to feel your emotions get to you, just breathe, okay? Back to the basics, and you’re gonna see more of what’s coming if you’re focused on your breath and your body, okay? Don’t worry about anything else. It’s easy to let your anger take over, but that’s no way to fight.” 

Johnny feels his throat close up, because they looked natural together, like they fit, and Robby has never looked more powerful. They looked like they were meant to be student and teacher, in a shape Johnny knows he will never fit into. 

“Hey,” he approaches, trying to keep his voice casual instead of wrecked. 

Robby snaps out of focus, inadvertently closing his fists, his stance tightening up. “Sorry, Daniel was just--” 

“It’s cool,” Johnny nods quickly. “It looks good. If it feels good, use it tomorrow.” 

“You wouldn’t be mad?” 

Daniel watches them cautiously. Johnny feels his heart sink, that his son actually thinks he’d be that petty, and he’s as close to crying as he’s felt in a long time. 

He pulls Robby into a hug, if only to hide his expression. “No,” he tries to breathe into Robby’s hair, tries not to let his throat close all the way up. “I wouldn’t be mad.” 

Daniel watches them, hands in his pockets, eyes dark and unblinking, and Johnny watches him back. 

***

Johnny sits close to Daniel on the subway home, pressing his thigh flush. Robby’s snoozing on his other side with Johnny’s arm wrapped around his shoulders. It’s almost eleven, but the fight doesn’t start until noon, so there will be enough time for sleep. He can feel Daniel leaning closer, and he turns into him. 

The subway car rumbles over the tracks underneath, and his kid is warm and breathing under his arm, and Daniel is holding the stuffed orange tiger he’d let Robby win at basketball. Johnny hovers closer, lets their foreheads knock together in the too-bright lights that washed the color out of Daniel’s skin. 

Daniel brushes a kiss against his lips, and settles back with his cheek resting on Johnny’s shoulder, closing his eyes in exhaustion. 

“59th street Columbus Circle,” Daniel mumbles. “That’s our stop.” 

“I got it,” Johnny murmurs into his hair. “I’ll wake you up.” 

***

##  **SUNDAY**

Johnny wakes up to lips on his chest. 

It had been easy to convince Daniel to stay the night, and Johnny mentally thanks George again for ignoring Johnny’s suggestion of staying on the pullout in Miguel and Robby’s room. 

_“We’ll all be together all weekend. You’re gonna want your space,”_ George had advised.

Johnny breathes deep, pulling brain-clearing oxygen into his lungs as he blinks the image of Daniel LaRusso into focus, the top of his head tilting this way and that as he nipped and licked his way across Johnny’s chest. 

“Good morning--” Johnny clears his throat. 

Last night, they’d fallen into bed immediately. And _literally,_ as Daniel was practically dead on his feet. Two nights in two different beds, all spooning and no sex. Johnny doesn't want to think too deeply about how little that bothered him, about how nice it was just... _being_ with somebody again.

Daniel looks up, chin digging into Johnny’s sternum. “I called into work.” 

Johnny tries smirking, but it probably looked dumb and soft. The morning light turned the tips of Daniel’s hair and his eyes a radiant copper, like brand new pennies glinting in the sun.

“Such a deadbeat,” Johnny jokes, feeling a warm effervescence bubbling up under his ribs.

Daniel pushes up and in, connecting their lips together. Johnny feels the tips of Daniel’s fingers curl over the waistband of his boxers. He feels a tug, jarring and low in his gut, and his breathing kicks up. 

“I’m gonna blow you, okay?” Johnny sees his underwear tossed to the floor out of the corner of his eye, Daniel was already halfway down, pushing his knees apart. 

“Okay,” he breathes, canting his hips and eyes to the ceiling.

***

_monday monday we leave monday_

They take a shower. Johnny pulls him off and listens to the sounds he makes huffing hot into his ear. The water washes over his back and across his toes and down Daniel’s chest and he thinks--

_Monday._

Monday was tomorrow. 

He has to get on a plane and leave and

tomorrow, there will be a continent between them

instead of a sheet of hot water and nothing at all, nothing at all.

“Come on,” Johnny tells the corner of Daniel’s jaw, and Daniel gives a last groan and turns soft in Johnny’s arms, like he was gonna fall over, but he reaches out and Johnny holds him upright, between the wall and the water.

Daniel looks at him with dark, dazed eyes. 

“Well that was good,” he laughs softly, fingers skimming at Johnny’s ribs, a little hesitant. “It’s been awhile.” 

Johnny hovers close, unsure what to do. All he can think about is the slight pinkness in Daniel’s cheeks and _tomorrow, tomorrow._

“They got breakfast downstairs?” Daniel’s eyebrows quirk up

Johnny laughs, and he stops thinking for a few seconds about tomorrow.

He shuts the water off, and leans back.

***

They pick up Robby for breakfast, just a few rooms down the hall. He’s alone, and he tells them Miguel already went to breakfast with George and Carmen. He doesn’t know about Tory and Aisha.

He slings his gym bag over one shoulder but lets Johnny carry it for him, only cracking a tiny, tight smile when Johnny jokes that _‘Champions don’t carry their own bag.’_

The guys (mainly Tommy, and certainly never Dutch, with his cool, menthol-cigarette shrouded aloofness) used to do the same thing for Johnny, and back then it’d seemed fun and fraternal. But now, with his son about to face his fellow student (whom Johnny had _trained)_ it seems a little clumsy, misplaced. 

Like something an estranged father still making amends would do. 

Daniel strikes up a conversation with Robby about breakfast, something about banana-chocolate pancakes or something LaRusso’s mother used to make him. 

They eat in the hotel breakfast room and Johnny doesn’t know what to say. 

“Did you ever have to fight anybody from Cobra Kai?” 

Johnny looks up. LaRusso was looking at him curiously, picking at his waffle. Robby stopped eating his omlette to look up. 

“What d’you mean?” 

“Like Robby having to fight Miguel today-- Did you have to do that when you were at Cobra Kai?”

“Um. Yeah, actually. In ‘83. I had to fight my buddy Tommy in the finals.”

“How was that?” Robby asked.

“It sucked.” Johnny can still remember Bobby’s torn expression on the sidelines, Kreese abandoning any neutrality, yelling at Johnny to _“GET HIM, HIT HIM WHERE HE’S WEAK--”_

Tommy had turned his ankle the week before, playing basketball. 

No Mercy.

“My Sensei was a real asshole,” Johnny keeps his eyes on Robby. “He picked sides. Played us against each other. Made us feel like shit. I...I try not to do that. I never want to make you feel like I did back then.”

Robby looks down at his fork. 

Johnny sighs. “I know it sounds like a copout. But I just want you both to have fun out there today. You’re my kid...I’m always proud of you. But you’re both my students, I don’t want to pick sides...” he trails off, seeing Robby turn away.

Robby pushes his chair back, leaving his plate. “I’m gonna go get dressed and warm up. I don’t want to be late.”

“Robby--” he calls, but his son only shifts his gym bag a little higher on his shoulder, pushing through the hotel doors. 

Johnny feels sick to his stomach, like he’d had too much coffee, shaky and acidic. 

Daniel’s hand rubs up his back, coming to a rest on his shoulder. “I know it’s hard to tell... but he’s coming around. I can see it.” 

***

“Are you okay?”

Johnny sucks a breath in through his nose, looks over his shoulder. 

Carmen, offering a cup of coffee and a soft smile.

“‘M fine,” he turns to look back across the mat. The kids were all stretching, Aisha the only one not dressed out in her gi. Daniel had run to find the bathroom. He still hadn’t seen Robby. 

“Today must be difficult for you,” she pulled the styrofoam cup back, nails a glossy blush color. 

“They’ll get through it,” he nodded at the kids. “That’s what kids do. They work their shit out, on the mat or somewhere else.” 

“I wasn’t talking about them, Johnny.” 

He shrugs.

“I had a talk with Miguel last night.” 

He turned. “Oh yeah?” 

“Yes. He seemed to think he couldn’t win today. He said, ‘If I beat Robby, Sensei will be mad. If I don’t, he’ll be disappointed.’” 

Johnny closed his eyes. “What’d you tell him?”

He felt her coffee-warm fingers curl around his elbow, her head rest on his shoulder. “I told him he was being stupid. That Sensei Lawrence has never looked at either of his boys without pride in his eyes.” 

There was something itching in his eyes, making them water, and his throat was closing up. Allergies, probably. 

Johnny looks back at the kids. Tory was helping Miguel in a partner split-leg stretch. Aisha was taking pictures.

“They’re good kids, aren’t they?” Carmen murmured, patting at his arm.

“Yeah,” he manages to nod. 

***

It was ten minutes till the start of the match, and Robby still wasn’t out on the mat. The bathrooms and locker rooms were empty. He finally checks his phone to find a text from Daniel, 

_ << we’re out back _

Johnny pushes through a heavy metal door marked “Exit”, opening out on a back alley. Daniel and Robby are standing a few yards away, shoulder to shoulder. Praying. 

Johnny blinks, stepping out onto the wet asphalt in his bare feet. Maybe they weren’t praying, but they had their hands together just like they were, pushing up into the air, then outward. Just breathing with their eyes closed. 

Daniel’s eyes flutter open, maybe a gust of wind or at Johnny’s presence. He looks a little nervous, and pats Robby gently on the shoulder. 

“Game time, kid.” 

Robby opens his eyes, nods seriously. “Thanks.”

“You feel any better?” 

“Yeah,” he breathes, eyebrows together. “I feel...calmer.” 

“You’re centered. _Focused_ ,” Daniel smiles as they approach Johnny.

There’s an awkward beat of silence. 

“They’re about ready for you in there,” Johnny studies his son. “You good?” 

Robby nods. “Yeah.” 

Johnny pulls him into a hug, only a little stiff, and lets his son untangle his arms and head back inside. 

Daniel shoves his hands into his jacket pockets, pursing his lips. “I found him in the bathroom. He was freaking out a little. I hope--” he sucks in a breath. “I hope I didn’t overstep...” 

“No,” Johnny shakes his head. “What was that thing you were doing?” 

“It’s a breathing exercise. Mr. Miyagi taught it to me a long time ago. It always used to help me calm down.” 

Johnny nods. “Thanks. For helping him. And for last night...” He feels his breath hitch, thinks about Robby’s laughing face as the roller coaster had jerked back to a crawl, pushing his long hair back, making fun of Johnny’s faintly sick expression. 

Daniel steps closer, reaches out, takes Johnny’s fingers in his own. “I had fun, too. He’s a great kid. He reminds me of you.” 

“He doesn't have much of me,” Johnny turns his hands over, holding Daniel’s fingers. 

“I don’t know about that,” Daniel grins, eyelashes floating over his cheeks. “He figured out how to cheat at ring toss. Sounds like natural born Cobra Kai to me--” 

“That’s not _cheating,_ that’s strategy--” 

“Come on,” Daniel tugs on his hand, heading to the door.. “Let’s get out of here before you cut your feet up.”

***

They follow Robby inside, and check in with the head official. The stands are filling in, and a low dynne of noise is rising, building a high-anticipation for the match. Tory comes over with a silver medal around her neck. Her match had been fierce, barely losing to a six-foot 18 year old from Tallahassee. 

“Hey,” she comes up to Robby, jutting her chin out. “Aisha’s gonna be over in Miguel’s corner, so I’m in yours. Sound fair?” 

Robby looks a little thrown. “Okaayy...” 

“Don’t look so shocked. I may be a bitch but I’m the pick of the litter. Where’s your water bottle, you got a towel? I got pads, let’s see your kicks, don’t want your hamstrings gettin’ cold.” 

Tory pulls Robby off to his corner of the mat, Daniel cracking up at Johnny’s shoulder.

“She’s a firecracker,” he laughs. “Kinda reminds me of Ali. Just a little.”

“You have no idea,” Johnny groans, trying not to imagine any potential scenario involving his son, Tory Nichols, and the word _‘girlfriend’.”_

Johnny waves Miguel over, and then Robby, and he gives both students the pep talk he’s been writing in his head, ever since he knew this was coming. George and Carmen, and Tory and Aisha all crowd in close, and they all put their arms around each other in a huddle, something so utterly un-Cobra Kai, that Johnny’s head reels a little. 

Robby pokes his head up, gesturing over at Daniel, who was standing on the sidelines, watching with a little smile. 

“Hey, Daniel! Get in here! You’re on my team, right?” 

LaRusso comes over after a few waves, and Johnny opens his arm, letting him into the huddle. 

“Okay,” Johnny finishes, trying to ignore Daniel’s unwavering stare. “What do we say?” 

They all shout in unison, 

_“FIGHT CLEAN! FIGHT HARD! CAN’T LOSE!”_

***

The final matches go to seven points, and it’s one of the best matches Johnny’s ever _seen--_

Miguel flies around Robby, and Robby follows him, wheeling in the center of the mat, letting Miguel come to him. Robby had a tendency to fight angry around Miguel, to let his temper get the best of him and leave holes open in his guard that Miguel could take advantage of.

But this time, something is different. Robby is practically _zen--_

Something about the breathing exercise, or the way LaRusso had adjusted his stance into something wider, steadier, stronger-- 

And it’s not magic, or anything, Johnny can still see the influences of his teaching, and George’s jiu-jitsu and shotokan-- 

But there’s just something there that wasn’t there before. Just a touch. And it _works--_

They’re tied, 3-3, and Miguel rushes forward, leg screaming down in an axe-kick that should have knocked Robby to the ground, but Robby catches Miguel’s calf in the crook of his elbow, sending Miguel to the mat. Robby followed him down, chopping him in the chest, ending the match 4-3. 

The crowd goes nuts, of course, the boys had put on the show of the night, and they love it when Robby offers Miguel a hand up and Miguel pulls Robby into a hug. 

People go crazy, and Johnny’s only a little annoyed when footage ends up on Youtube of him striding into the ring and grabbing his kid up into a big hug, Miguel pounding them both on the back, and then Johnny grabbing Miguel, too. 

Tory yanks the trophy from the official’s hand, and runs it over to Robby, yelling _“RESEDA KARATE ACADEMY, BITCHES, WE’LL BE BACK NEXT YEAR!!”_ and pumps the crowd up to chant, _“RKA! RKA! RKA!”_

Johnny’s so happy, he doesn’t even mind that he and George have to calm the officials down about Tory’s “egregious behavior and aggressive use of language on the dojo floor.” 

He looks over, amid the pandemonium, over the heads of the kids, and Carmen and George (who were now kissing in jubilation), and Miguel who was swinging his silver medal around his head like a boomerang-- 

Robby lets go of Johnny, still tearful, the _‘I love you, Dad’_ hanging off of his lips. He turns and accepts the trophy from Tory, who immediately throws her arms around his neck, and kisses him square on the mouth. 

Aisha snaps a picture, which ends up trending on Twitter. 

Johnny straightens up, looking back over his little crowd of students, and all of the strangers in the room, looking for the only other person who might know what this tightness in his chest means, what it means to see Diaz hand a trophy over to the son that Johnny had almost failed. 

_Almost._

LaRusso, shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows, hands clapping, a knockout smile that crinkled the skin at the corners of his eyes, and those deep, dark eyes trained on Johnny, and only on Johnny. 

***

##  **MONDAY**

The College tows Daniel’s car out of the garage, which he tells Johnny he knew would happen. 

“Why didn’t you tell me? We could have moved it or something--” 

“Yeah, but this way you had to drive me home,” Daniel pulls his white undershirt up and over his head, tosses it across the bedroom, shoving Johnny down onto the navy blue comforter that smelled like Daniel’s shampoo and cologne. 

“How’re you gonna get it back?” Johnny braces himself, keeps from bouncing off the bed, and pulls his socks off, keeping his eyes up on the smooth planes of chest, Daniel bracing a hand on the wall as he shucked his pants off, balance still a little shaky after the gin drinks at dinner.

It’s just past midnight. Johnny’s flight is at noon, early enough considering he had to get the Escalade back from Jersey to Manhattan to load up everyone’s luggage (teenager pace), then drive to the airport in Monday morning traffic, return the car, then get through security and to their gate by ten-- George would freak if they got their any later-- so he was gonna have to get up soon. 

“I’ll figure it out,” Daniel dips down for a sloppy kiss, thumbs yanking at the belt loops of Johnny’s open jeans. Johnny gets the message, and lifts his hips. “Don’t wanna think about that right now--” 

Johnny knows just what he means. There’s a lot that Johnny doesn't want to think about right now. So he focuses instead on where to put his hands (skipping across Daniel’s ribs) and where Daniel’s hands are nudging him (down on his back, ushering him to scoot back up the bed). 

“You gonna blow me?” And he’s glad he had had that last tequila shot on George’s tab, because his tongue is loose and soft enough for this kind of dirty talk. 

Daniel presses his hips down, and Johnny enjoys that slow curl of heat, the fact that being fifty gave him time to enjoy it. 

“We’re gonna do more than that,” he mutters into his neck, which causes Johnny’s fingers to stutter to a temporary stop. 

“Oh, yeah?” he tries to sound cool. He’s pretty much pulling it off. 

“Don’t worry, King Karate,” Daniel sits up, reaching sideways across the mattress to the bedside table. “I’ll talk you through it.” 

Johnny closes his eyes, trying to breathe. He wishes he’d paid more attention during the magic-Miyagi-prayer-thing demo. 

He feels fingers push his bangs up, and opens his eyes to wide, baby browns. “Sound okay?” Johnny has a momentary flashback, LaRusso’s bruised up face inches away in the October night, looking up at him like his life was in his hands. 

It was the same look now. But different.

“Yeah,” he nods, and kisses him again. 

***

Johnny spots something glinting from the closet across the room. 

“I’ll get the shower going,” Daniel kisses him, lazy and soft, lips pink and bruised. “Takes awhile to get hot.” He pushes himself up, and Johnny watches upside-down as his long legs carry him off to the yellow light of the bathroom, across the floor and through the open bedroom door. 

Johnny hears the water hit the plastic tub, splashing in the sink, and Daniel humming in the background.

The ceiling fan whips around overhead, wicking the sweat from Johnny’s skin, and his limbs are numb and heavy in the best way, oxytocin coursing warmly through his blood, something Dutch had told him heroin was kind of like ( _“except like...way fuckin’ better, man.”)_

The bedroom is dark. It’s close to two o’clock, the courtyard lights from the apartment complex dappling over the hardwood floor. The light hits something metallic in the closet, winking cheekily, like a little, whispered _over here!_

Johnny turns rightside up, peering forward from his elbows, blood rushing back into place, momentarily dizzying. He follows his eyes forward, fumbles around for his underwear and nearly trips over his own feet before he’s kneeling in front of the closet. He pushes a layer of jackets and suit pants out of the way, and his fingers curl around a cardboard box, pulling it forward, scraping over the dusty floor. 

He picks through the items. A framed newspaper clipping from the ‘84 Tournament; a toy drum with a worn wooden handle; a wadded up bright red Japanese style robe thing; a folded up black belt; a white cotton gi embroidered with Miyagi’s green and orange tree logo. The white and blue lotus headband. And--

Two trophies, both identical, the design of which Johnny knew very well.

He pulls out the nearest one, the gleaming gold figure at the top kicking into the night. Johnny lifted it from the box, remembering the weight of it from thirty years ago, the deep grooves carved into the walnut posts, the heavy wooden base, the little golden angel reaching up from the middle. Johnny wiped the gold plate with his thumb, shedding the dust over the letters, 

_ALL VALLEY UNDER 18_

_1984 KARATE CHAMPIONSHIPS_

_CHAMPION_

He hears the slide of Daniel’s feet, coming back down the hallway, and he doesn’t react fast enough to do anything but turn around, the trophy still gripped in both hands.

“Oh,” Daniel stops, hair wet, a towel around his waist. The water splashed on in the background. Daniel had left it running for him. 

“Why are these in the closet?” is the only thing he can think to ask. 

“I don’t--” Daniel mouths wordlessly, settling on a thoughtless scoff. “It’s not like I’ve got room for them. It’s just...old stuff.” He shrugs, like it was nothing, but Johnny can see his guards going up, and he knows none this was nothing.

Johnny sets the trophy down carefully, and picks up the lotus headband. He can feel Daniel lurch forward and then check himself, like Johnny was a toddler touching something breakable. 

“Could you--” Daniel struggles, biting at his lip, which Johnny hasn’t seen since that first, nervous night in front of the TV, washed in the light of the Enterprise. “Could you put that down, please?” 

“Why are you hiding this stuff?” Johnny stands up, blood rushing down to his toes.

“I’m not _hiding it--”_

“Did your boyfriend know about it? Did he know you were a two-time karate Champion?” 

“Did he know I won a couple of local karate tournaments when I was a kid?” Daniel scoffs again, a bitter hint of a laugh on his tongue. “I must have forgot to mention it.” 

“For two years, you forgot?” Johnny starts to feel the dark tendrils of anger tingling at the back of his neck. Because how could he _do_ this, because this is _who he was,_ and it was also all wrapped up in Johnny, and _Johnny_ was the one who had handed him that trophy sitting in a box in the closet, _literally and figuratively--_

And there’s an even darker part, way back, whispering that _you did it, too, you did it until Bobby dragged you out of the gutter and dried you up and set you on your feet in front of George, you’d be dead by now if it wasn’t for Bobby--_

“It’s not a big deal, Johnny, and it’s really none of your business--” Daniel snatches the headband out of Johnny’s fingers, throwing it back into the box, pushing it back into the closet. He shuts the door, wiping his hands, his chest heaves up and down and he wasn’t looking at Johnny anymore. “Let’s just--” he waves his hand. “Let’s just forget it, okay?” 

Johnny feels his jaw tighten. Because tomorrow he’d be gone anyway, why should he care?

“Is that how you go through life? You just forget the stuff you don’t want to remember?” 

Daniel’s chin jerks back, mouth dropping open, and his cheeks flame up, more angry than anything. “What the _fuck_ is your deal with this?” 

Tomorrow-- _no-- today,_ is Monday-- 

“I’m just trying to help you, man--” he laughs, not nicely, shaking his head. 

He leaves today. He gets on a plane today. 

“Yeah, well I don’t need your help.” 

He gets on a plane today.

Johnny stops, squeezes his fists like Miguel had taught him, trying to clear his head and not focus on what was shut up in the closet. He tries to breathe. 

“What--” he shakes his head, ducking his chin down until Daniel was forced to meet his eye. “What happened to you?”

Daniel’s face screws up, like he was trying not to cry. “I don’t need this--” and his eyes start to glaze over, he’s looking everywhere but Johnny again, which sends an intangible projectile shooting through the middle of Johnny’s chest. 

“I’m just trying to understand,” Johnny lowers his voice, stepping in closer, fingers ghosting at Daniel’s temple, like maybe he could usher the tears backwards.

“I’m just...” his tongue presses against the sides of his teeth, chest heaving, staring at the floor. “I’m just trying to get through the day, most days.”

“You can’t do that forever,” Johnny says, because that’s what Bobby had said. “You gotta...” he sighs. “You gotta have something to get out of bed for.” 

“I know,” Daniel whispers, and it’s just awful, the slackness of his jaw, the despairing slope of his shoulders. “I just...after Mr. Miyagi died...I couldn't handle it.” 

Johnny takes his hand, pressing at his limp fingertips, like an upside down piano. 

_“I was gonna get married,”_ Daniel whispers, eyes fixed on Johnny’s shoulder, and Johnny waits, he can tell the words are coming. “I was working...at this big dealership in Van Nuys...crazy hours, and I was making great money, ‘cause we were gonna start something on our own...” he swallowed, a couple of tears slide down the feathery tips of his eyelashes. 

“We had all these big plans...you know, kids, a house...maybe a dog, but she was allergic--” he laughs, and Johnny slides their fingers together. 

“And...then he died. And I just...stopped. Everything. And I couldn't get it together, and we didn’t get the loan, and I just...wasn’t really there for awhile. And it killed the relationship, and I quit my job...And I don’t have a good reason. I knew he was sick... and I always thought, you know, my Dad died when I was a kid, and I made my peace with that. But this... I wasn’t ready, and I didn’t get to tell him goodbye, or what he meant to me...and I just...let everything go. I just wanted _out--”_

His voice gets tight, like his throat was closing off, and Johnny reaches out a thumb to wipe his tears, and he keeps his hand here, and Daniel’s still not looking at him. 

“So I broke my lease, and I got on a plane... and I put...” he chokes on the words. “Johnny, I- I put his house up for sale, ‘cause I didn’t want to deal with it. Everything I had left of him, I sold, I sold the house, and the cars, and it’s all gone except for that box...and I don’t like looking at it, because it’s like this big-- _flashing neon sign,_ that says, ‘You’re a Coward’, and I know it’s true, but I don’t like looking at it--” 

“Then come back--” Johnny feels tears hit his own cheeks, and _fuck,_ he hasn’t cried in a year, _goddammit--_ “You hate your job, there’s _nobody here--”_

Daniel collapses back to the bed, sitting limply, already exhausted, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hands. “My mom’s here-- I’ve got cousins, you know, my family--” 

“She could move, too, you’re her only kid--” 

“Johnny, there’s nothing there for me.” 

Johnny just looks at him, shaking his head, because did he really have to say it?

Daniel shakes his head. “I didn’t mean it that way.” 

Johnny can feel Daniel’s eyes on him as he paces around, the closed closet, the cramped walls around him, the depressingly bare walls, the _emptiness_ of this place, nothing like the warm, sun-filled streets of the Valley, the endless reach of the ocean, high methane blue sky, the place of his childhood where Daniel had looked out of place for a few weeks, before carving a hole right in the middle of it that was thirty-years old now, Daniel-shaped and raw at the edges, and Johnny hated him for it, because it’s been decades, but something about this weekend had cemented the idea in Johnny’s head-- 

That Daniel felt right, and he looked right, and his jagged edges fit right into Johnny’s jagged gaps, like two gears tucked into the guts of a giant, inescapable clock, ever-turning in a perfect fit.

It didn’t work without him.

Johnny licks his lips, and forms the words very carefully. 

“I want you to come back,” he says softly. “I want you to buy a ticket and come back with me.” 

Daniel blinks and rubs a hand down his face, staring out the window at nothing, and Johnny thinks, _coward--_

“Why,” he shakes his head. “Why would I do that?” 

“Because I’m asking you to,” Johnny snaps each word out. “Because I want you to--”

Daniel looks up again, Johnny can see little goosebumps all over his bare shoulders. “You don’t even know me-- you haven’t seen me in thirty years, and we spend one weekend together--” his voice rises, arms flailing. “--and you think that means we should move in together, you know, that’s _crazy,_ Johnny--” he stutters on the words, and Johnny can’t believe what he’s saying. His voice gentles down, which is the worst. “Look. I had a great time this weekend, but this-- this isn’t a movie, I’ve got a lease, and-- and my mom, and she’s got a life here too, you know, and friends, and-- and--” he leaves off, struggling. 

Johnny shakes his head. He’s fucking done. He swallows, trying to open up this throat enough to get the last word. 

“You know, you’re right, LaRusso. You are a loser. You’re fifty years old, working a job you HATE, you live in this little place alone, and you’re only doing it because you’re afraid that if you try harder, you’ll still fuck it all up, and then you’ll KNOW you’re a loser.”

The air goes out of the room, and Daniel stares up at him from the bed. He licks his lips, carefully. “Who are we talking about here, Johnny?” 

“Fuck you--” he snaps, and starts looking for his clothes. 

“No, fuck _you--”_ Daniel stands, yelling at Johnny’s back, and Johnny can hear the tears. “You think you can just come back into my life, and screw everything up and, and make me think about all the shit I’ve fucked up in my life, and make me think that moving back across the country is gonna solve all my problems. You know that’s pretty fucking presumptuous of you--” 

Johnny turns, pulling up his jeans. “Maybe it is, but what else are you gonna do? Are you gonna stay here? You gonna die here? Eating cereal alone in front of the TV?”

Daniel flinches. “You’ve been here _three days,_ Johnny. You don’t know me. You don’t know shit.” 

“Fine.” He finds his t-shirt, but doesn’t bother looking for his socks. He knows his shoes are by the door, where he’d toed them off, Daniel in his arms, pushed up against the door. 

He pockets his wallet, sitting on the kitchen counter, and grabs the keys to the Cadillac, parked outside in Daniel’s allotted spot. Because Daniel’s car was in a tow yard somewhere, because he’d left it in a garage on purpose so that Johnny would come home with him.

 _“Fine,”_ he snaps at Johnny’s back.

Johnny slams the door behind him, and tries not to think about Daniel’s face, or the taste of Cocoa Puffs and gin, or how complete he’d felt less than an hour ago, pressing his lips into the middle of his back, arm around his waist, fingers spread across his abs, the expansion of his lungs pressing his spine into Johnny’s chest, breath matching breath, like one living being created out of two, a perfect fit.

***

Carmen comments on his appearance, and Johnny snaps at her like an asshole, and loads all of the bags into the car himself, and doesn’t take his sunglasses off the whole morning. They make it back across the City, George somehow knew not to mess with the radio after Johnny turned it up just loud enough to discourage conversation. 

They drop the car off at the rental drop-off area. Johnny tries very hard not to look around for Daniel, or wonder how he managed to get to work that morning, or _if_ he managed to get to work. He probably took the morning to sort out the car, track it down and pay the fine, all that shit. 

Everyone takes their own bags, rolling them through the automatic doors that swish open, and the signs and lights flash at Johnny through the sunglasses, telling him which way to go, _this way forward, this way--_

He doesn’t realize he’s stopped walking until he hears Carmen’s voice, and sees everybody has stopped yards ahead. They’re almost to the security gate, _All Gates This Way--_

She’s rolling her bag back toward him, a concerned look pinching her brow together. 

“Johnny? You okay?” Carmen is still staring at him, stopped with her fingers wrapped around her luggage handle.

“Yeah. Yeah, I just... I’m gonna--” he starts to feel his chest tighten up, he doesn’t know what to do, and he feels raw, and ragged, and incomplete. 

“I gotta,” his heart picks up, because it’s _Monday,_ and he’s _getting on a plane, he’s leaving--_

He’s putting a continent between him and LaRusso, the one who fits. 

“I’ll be right back,” he mumbles. 

_“What?”_ Carmen shouts at his back. 

“I’ll be back,” he yells, not turning around, going the opposite way of the signs, going the way nobody but his heart was telling him to go.

***

He runs back to the rental place, there’s a huge line already. He sees Daniel right away, looking like he’d had about as much sleep as Johnny has had, his hair combed back to the side, his green tie knotted only slightly crooked, typing away at a computer with a younger associate at his shoulder watching anxiously as an upset customer frowned deeply. 

He leaves his bag at the back of the line and shoulders to the front, ignoring indignant squeaks and grunts. Daniel looks up, eyes going wide, and Johnny knows he probably looks like a crazy person.

“We need to talk,” Johnny hadn’t realized he was so out of breath. He keeps his eyes locked on Daniel, and the lady customer gapes, affronted.

“Johnny,” he finally finds his voice, and it’s...pretty frosty. “You can’t be here, _I’m working--”_

“I need to talk to you. _Now--”_ He fumbles with his sunglasses, pushing them up on his head, realizing they were still down over his eyes.

“This is my job. I’ll call you later.” He turns back to the Karen lady, softly apologizing, “Ma’am, I’m so sorry--” 

Fuck this shit. Fuck this lady. 

“I don’t want to talk to you on the phone, I need to talk to you _now--”_

“Johnny,” Daniel snaps, visibly angry, his little customer service mask dissolving away. “I’m gonna tell you one more time, and then I’m gonna call security. You can’t just barge up here, these are customers, _and I’m at work--”_

There’s a moment of awkward silence where Daniel types and the customer stares at Johnny’s angry face. Johnny pictures himself giving up, walking back to his bag, rolling it to the security gate.

“Alright,” Daniel says cooly, ignoring Johnny. “Mrs. Turner, here’s your agreement and insurance--” 

“I love you,” Johnny says. 

Daniel stares, hands freezing on the counter, a pen still halfway to Mrs. Turner’s fingers. 

Mrs. Turner gasps, a hand over her heart, her face suddenly melting.

Johnny ignores her, keeping his eyes on Daniel, trying to get each word out without his chest caving in.

“And I think you should come back home. And move in with me. And be with me,” Johnny’s voice cracks. “And help me teach Robby. ‘Cause you’re-- you’re good with him, you’re better than me, and I need you--”

“Johnny,” Daniel is starting to crack. 

“You’re running away,” Johnny presses, “And I know because I know... _exactly..._ how you feel. But you can’t do it anymore. You need karate, and you need me.” He takes a second, catching his breath. Fucking hell, this was just like the end of a stupid movie. 

“This isn’t you,” he finishes, forcing himself to blink some moisture back into his eyes. 

Mrs. Turner starts to sniffle. The pen floats loosely in Daniel’s fingers. Everybody around them, including the staff, is silent.

He hears another sympathetic sniffle from the young employee behind Daniel, biting her lip, hands clasped in front of her chest. 

Daniel, looks up to the ceiling, eyes wet. Fuck. This was way too much crying for less than 24 hours. “Why do you do this to me?” he asks, sighing heavily.

Johnny leans across the counter, putting the rest of his chips on the board. “Because I know it’s gonna work.” 

_“How can you know that?_ ” Daniel snaps. “I don’t want to be packing my stuff up this time next year, heading back across the country, because you figure out I’m not the person you’ve got in your head--” 

Johnny grins, the happy effervescence already bubbling in his chest, because he can _tell,_ goddammit, he’s already _won--_

“You’re not gonna disappoint me, LaRusso.”

“How?” he whispers. The light in this place really does make everybody look like shit, it doesn’t do his skin any justice. 

“Because you’re wrong. Because I know you. I’ve always known you.” 

Daniel bites his lip, eyes saying words that Johnny didn’t quite understand yet, but _almost--_

“Just...call me tonight.” Johnny tilts his head, trying not to push it too much.

Daniel stares, blinks a couple more times, eyes shifting subtly brighter. 

“Okay,” he says.

Johnny grins again, and starts to push back off the counter. “You promise?” 

Daniel laughs, eyes still shining but he was smiling. _“Yes,”_ he laughs, and Johnny nearly cheers. 

Nearly.

“You’re sure?” he says instead, still holding onto the counter.

“John, you’re gonna miss your plane--” 

“You’re gonna call me?” 

_“Yes!”_ Daniel laughs again, leaning across the counter to shove him back.

Johnny complies, stumbling back and grinning like a fucking moron, but Mrs. Turner tugs on his sleeve, and tells him in a jubilant voice, “You should kiss him!” 

“Should I?” Johnny grins at this dumb Karen lady, she was probably someone’s mom, and someone’s bitchy sister, and someone’s nosy Aunt, and she was cheering him on-- no she was cheering _them_ on, and he’s just so fucking happy. Fuck. Because this might actually _work--_

Johnny jumps to lean far over the counter, grabbing LaRusso by his stupid green tie, and pulls him in for a kiss. 

It’s a good kiss, and everybody cheers, just like the end of some dumb, romantic comedy that Johnny won’t ever watch. 

***

Daniel calls that night, right as Johnny’s shoving all his dirty laundry into a washer at the laundromat, and tells Johnny he put in his two weeks. 

“Can you wait two whole weeks for me?” he murmurs into the speaker, probably pouring a box of macaroni noodles into a pot of boiling water. It was nine o’clock back East, and the California sun hadn’t even started to set.

Johnny sits down in the nearest white plastic chair, and stares at the ceiling, thinking about all the shit he needed to get rid of to make room for Daniel’s things, and all of the things Daniel would have to leave back in New Jersey. Because you couldn’t take everything with you. 

Everything gets too heavy. 

“I can wait,” he says, listening to Daniel breathe on the other end of the line, like he was right there. He sounded so close.

They hang up, and Johnny starts flipping through photos of the trip. His fingers stop on the picture of Robby and Daniel he’d taken at Coney Island, snapping the photo like Miguel had shown him how to do almost a year ago. 

Thirty years was a long time, and you couldn't keep everything you had. Some things you have to leave behind.

But some things come back.

***

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Oh, I should say! Snowshus was the one who suggested that instead of "Fight Right, Fight Hard, Can't Lose" that the alliteration of "Fight Clean, Fight Hard, Can't Lose!" brings together the phrase together much more nicely. I really liked how it turned out. Thanks snowshus!!


End file.
